


Mimic

by House_of_Ares



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Fisting, M/M, Wrong, seriouslywrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-06
Updated: 2009-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/House_of_Ares/pseuds/House_of_Ares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony, Obadiah, pizza, some good whiskey, and hands.  Warning: pure, unadulterated fisting porn with just a bleach-cap of Wrong.</p><p>Okay, maybe some more Wrong than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mimic

He's not sure exactly why he's here like this. It started out with him and Obadiah drinking - drinking a lot, actually, at least he was, and Obadiah was smoking one of his Montecristos.  
In a way, it was like talking to his father; Obadiah could conjure Howard's voice and cadence of speech like a first-rate mimic, and he'd been making Tony laugh all evening.  
There was pizza; the stocks were surging with no sign of letup, and the whiskey was a gift from some small-time subcontractor who wanted a deal to supply mortar-launch assemblies. His company was shit, but Tony had to admit the guy had taste, given that he'd sent some 30-year-old Macallan.  
They bullshitted and Tony was drunk, not terribly drunk but enough, so he was down with it when Obadiah leaned over a little and said “Bedroom. Now.”  
He turned on the light, the one in the corner that painted everything with a nice glow, and stood there and waited. Obadiah must've been turning off lights in the living room and putting the pizza away, because he was a few minutes behind. Tony was impatient.  
Obadiah loosened his tie when he came in, let it dangle around his neck like a pendant, and Tony peeled his T-shirt over his head. He'd always been slim, but forty-five minutes a day in his gym kept him pretty fucking okay with looking in the mirror. Obadiah seemed to appreciate it, anyway. He stood there, watched.  
“So, Tony.”  
Waited. Obadiah was considering, maybe sliding tongue between teeth the way he did.  
“What's on the menu?”  
Tony blinked a little.  
“Me. Like always.” He loved being cryptic and fucking with Obadiah like that.  
Eventually they're on the bed and it falls into a nice rhythm, Obadiah rubbing his beard down Tony's breastbone to his belly like he likes, and then dragging fingers back to his hole.  
Tony loves girls, but this. This is hard to argue with.  
Obadiah moves away; Tony whines, but he's tracing lines on his own belly and groin and he knows Obadiah's only getting the lube, so he's calm and then he slides his knees up when Obadiah touches his hole again, finger wet this time, and slides in.  
He groans appreciatively.  
Obadiah slides it in and out, slow and steady, and then there's the other, the way Tony likes it, and he arches up against hand. Obadiah hums in his throat.  
“You like this, hmm?”  
“Don't be stupid,” he mutters. It's pretty fucking obvious, he thinks.  
“Tony, Tony, Tony.”  
Another finger. It's wide, a good stretch, not quite as wide as the base of Obadiah's cock but close, and anyway enough for now; he's ready to be fucked.  
Obadiah just keeps working those three fingers into him, slick, and Tony groans loud.  
“Anytime,” he says.  
His little finger is there, too, so four, Tony's never had four fingers in him before and he lets out a high whine that's damning with its revelations, but Obadiah just hums and Tony's so hard it hurts, four fingers stretching him out.  
They stay that way for awhile. Tony thinks he just might be happy from this, if Obadiah ever touches his cock so he can get off. Instead, there's somehow this shift, from just fucking around to something a little more serious.  
  
After a few minutes, he's groaning and begging and just goes on autopilot, nonsense things about how he wants cock instead, _fuck me through the goddamn headboard already christ just do it motherfuck_ and Obadiah doesn't move from where he's kneeling beside the bed, which pisses Tony off. And then there's more, and the stretch and burn is maddening. Makes him pant with quick hard breaths and Obadiah is telling him to relax, and he might as well be a mile away for all Tony really hears him.  
  
What he does know is that he'd swear on his grandmother's grave that Obadiah's got his thumb in there now and he's got to be in up to the first joint, because it _hurts_ , for the first time he can really remember it fucking _hurts_. But it's not in a bad way, not really, it just makes everything sharp and he twists his head against the pillow. He's vaguely aware that his mouth is still going, _jesus fuck don't goddamn stop_ and _your whole fucking hand_ and maybe that was even _want your whole fucking hand now jesus move._  
There's more cool lube applied, and it's a delicious counterpoint to the pain, warming as it traces its way underneath along his crack, and Obadiah slips in a little more, and it's worse, some kind of fucked-up agony as he stretches around it, his whole body moving and twitching and rocking. Obadiah's stroking the front of one hip as he works his way in, and Tony is, no shit, about to lose his fucking mind, either from the pain or the pleasure or the slowness of it.  
There's a little lurch, and he yells fuck loud enough to wake up somebody sleeping in Pacific Palisades and Obadiah's mumbling something about _relax, there you go, shh, take it_ and Tony is dizzy with the hyperventilating. Then a slow, slick slide, and Obadiah's hand is in, all the way, and Tony gasps like a chick in a porn movie at how goddamn good it feels as his ass gets to relax, just a little, around wrist.  
If he could fucking see, he's sure his cock must be dripping, enough to cover his belly in fluid already, because it's so good and he's never, ever felt this before in all his years of sex.  
They hold that position for a couple of minutes, Tony just groaning and rambling, and then he shoves as much as he can, down, to get Obadiah to fucking move already, and he growls loud.  
Obadiah takes the hint. Tony can hear the snap of the tube lid, as if he gave a shit about it, and then he sucks breath through his clenched teeth because Obadiah is moving his whole goddamn hand inside him, wet and huge, and the other hand is now closed around Tony's cock. Tony is pretty sure he could die happy, right like this, fucking filled up and stroked and unable to remember his own name.  
  
It takes awhile, longer than he expects, for Obadiah to let him really lose it. But eventually it gets there, Tony jerking and moaning and leaking and desperate, desperate to come because it's just too good, because Obadiah's stroking him off, inside and out, and telling him how fucking hot it is to see his whole goddamn hand inside, how he's halfway to his elbow in Tony's ass, and _come on, Tony, let it go_.  
It's four point two seconds after that that he's just about screaming _fuck fuck fuck_ and he's got to be shooting a quart of cerebrospinal fluid the way it feels, all of him just uncoiling and trying to escape through his cock. When it's over – and it pretty much qualifies, _sans_ testing, as the longest fucking orgasm he's ever had – he falls back against the mattress and laughs. Winces and snaps his teeth as Obadiah pulls out slow, and then laughs again, fucking belly laughs, because that was so goddamn good. It's also irrationally funny that Obadiah is still dressed and has his hand-painted Italian silk tie on, and when he stands up and goes to wash his hand Tony can see he's got a hard-on that's got to be fucking painful, which is also pretty funny. So he just lays there for awhile, giggling, so spent and sated he's beside himself.  
Obadiah comes out of the bathroom after a few minutes – clearly he has taken care of some issues as well as washed up – and Tony rolls onto his stomach, still laughing, to look. Obadiah smiles.  
“What the fuck are you laughing about, Tony?”  
He stops, kind of, thinks briefly.  
“I have no fucking idea. But shit. Fucking good.”  
Obadiah just shakes his head, picks up the big heavy onyx ring and slips it on as Tony flops back over, still giggling.  
“I'm leaving, Tony.”  
“Okay. Thanks. Seriously. Holy shit.”  
“Get some rest. Big days coming up.”  
Tony watches him shut the door behind him.  
Obadiah goes to Stark Industries. It's safer to call that raghead Raza from the office.


End file.
